Can't Give Up on You
by ashleyjskywalker
Summary: 3x09- She followed him across universes, he followed her back, and he refuses to lose her now. Oneshot.


Because I hate, hate, _hate_ the scene at the end of Marionette. This might get confusing, I tried to write it in third person but I wasn't overly thrilled with it so I wrote it again in second. We'll just say that every divider line is a POV change and leave it at that.

* * *

Your hands tighten around the steering wheel as you drive to her apartment, the anger and frustration welling up inside of you. Anger at _her,_ for using you the way she did; anger at yourself, for falling into her trap; frustration, for wanting to fix all of this and not having any idea how to. Hell, you're angry and frustrated at this entire situation, and you wish that you could bury your fist into a wall somewhere to channel it outward. Or rewind back to before you crossed over with Walternate, and stay here instead. Or all the way back to Jacksonville, and kiss her instead of letting her pull away from you.

Because now that you know the truth, it is not all of the moments that you thought you had with her that crowd your mind. It is the moment she stood before you on the other side and bared her soul to you, when you realized that she was what you had been missing all along. You can still remember the way her lips felt beneath yours, the way she tasted and smelled, of coffee and gunpowder and some other spice that you still aren't quite able to pinpoint, the combination that is so distinctly _Olivia._ And that thought jars you from that pleasant memory, because it's something else that should have triggered your suspicions about _her,_ since she never managed to have that same flavor to her.

_You should have known._

Your fingers curl more tightly around the steering wheel, your knuckles turning white, as the car rolls to a stop in front of her apartment, and it's only with some effort that you pry your hand open again. As you ascend the steps to her door you force yourself to breathe deeply, the only thoughts in your mind being that you will make this right and you will not lose her from this.

* * *

Finding his T-shirt in the washer is the blow that finally collapses your defenses and leaves you broken and crying huddled in the corner. Somewhere through the tears you have the absurd thought that fate could have been kind enough to leave you a _dry_ T-shirt- one that hadn't been washed, that still smelled of him, so that you could have curled up to sleep holding it, and maybe pretended for just one night that he was there with you.

But you've learned that the universe isn't that kind to you. Because it's not enough that they brainwashed and tortured you, not enough that she was living your life while they did it. No... she had to take the one thing that you wanted more than anything else, the thing that you crossed universes to have. The thing that's irreplaceable.

The knock on your door startles you momentarily out of your tears- it's late. But even as your mind asks the question of who would be knocking on your door at this hour of the night, your heart already knows the answer, because he is the last person you want to see right now, and yet the only one. You don't move from your spot on the floor, hovering there in indecision, not sure whether you want to open it or ignore him and hope that he goes away. Emotions wash over you in waves- anger at him and what he's done, hope that maybe he's come to try to fix it, fear that he's here to tell you he's not interested anymore... and you swallow hard at that one, because you realize that even after all of this, you still love him.

Not bothering to wipe the tears from your face or hide the fact that you've been crying, you get up to go answer the door.

* * *

After the third knock, you start to get frustrated. You could see from the street that every light in her apartment was on- you know she's home, know she's awake... know she's probably ignoring you. And you don't really blame her for it.

"Olivia?" You knock again, hoping that her neighbors are all asleep, that you haven't woken any of them up with your banging on the door and yelling through it. "Olivia, we both know I can get into this apartment without a key, _please_ open the door." You sigh in frustration as your only answer is still silence, and your hand is just reaching into the inner pocket of your jacket for your lock pick set when you finally hear the lock slide back and the door opens.

You heart breaks a little as you look at her standing there- her eyes are red, there are tear stains marking her cheeks, you can tell that she's been crying. And you know you shouldn't right now, know she probably doesn't want you to, but you can't help yourself because you just want to comfort her somehow, and before you can think about it further you've stepped into her apartment and wrapped her in your arms, pulling her up against you.

* * *

"Olivia..."

Your name comes out of his mouth as a breath as he wraps you up in his arms, pushing the door closed behind him. And for a few moments, all thoughts and fears aside, you're too stunned to react and you just bury your face in his shoulder and breathe him in, coffee and aftershave and the barest hint of Walter's latest concoction in the lab, the smell that is so uniquely _Peter. _For those few seconds you let yourself enjoy his embrace, let yourself feel as if you belong there, let yourself feel safe. But reality brings that world crashing back down around you, and you stiffen suddenly, pushing yourself away from him as you remember that he's the reason you were crying to begin with.

You stare at him for a moment, swallowing back the tears that are threatening to spill out of your eyes again, trying to find your voice. "Peter... what are you doing here?" There is a stark contrast between the way you speak his name and the way he uttered yours- your throat is raw from crying, and the question comes out more sharply than you had intended, your voice thick with emotion.

He swallows visibly, almost looking lost without you in his arms, as if he wants to reach back out for you but knows he shouldn't. "I know what I told you today upsets you," he says softly. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine." The lie pops out of your mouth too quickly, and you know it's nothing more than a reflex, a defense mechanism to protect what is left of your fragile heart. And you're sure he knows it, too.

* * *

The tremor in her voice gives away the steely look on her face. But then you've always been able to read her through the strong front she puts up, always known what she's really feeling even when she tries to hide it. And you know she's hurting even more than you are from this, and all you want is a way to reverse time and fix it, a way to take the pain away from her. She's suffered through so much already, and you hate the fact that this time, it's because of you.

"Liv," you whisper again, and your hand reaches up of its own accord to gently cup her cheek, but she bats your hand away, and you feel your carefully rehearsed apology slipping away from you as she takes a step back, trying to distance herself from you. "Liv, I'm _sorry..._"

The slight constriction of the muscles at the corner of her eyes gives away the transition from anguish to ire. "Sorry? You're _sorry?_ You slept with her _here_, in _my _bed, while I was in another universe being brainwashed by _your_ father, and all you can say is that you're _sorry_?" She spits the words out as if they're venom in her mouth, and for the briefest moment you think that at least you've managed to draw her out of the denial she's been wrapping around herself. And then you start to worry that this isn't exactly going the way you thought it would, and have to clamp down on the panic that's threatening to rise up your throat. You can't lose her like this. You can't.

"What do you want me to say?" You spread your hands helplessly. "That I was stupid? That I missed every wrong signal she sent me, that I thought maybe I had made you happy enough that some things actually changed?" _You're_ starting to get angry now, too, because just because she was the one betrayed in this doesn't mean that you weren't hurt by it too. "I thought she was _you,_ Olivia, I thought I finally had what I've wanted for so long. She _used_ me to get what she needed, took advantage of what I felt, what I _feel_ for you. I know you're hurting, and I'd fix it in a heartbeat if I could take it all back, but I _can't_, so stop acting like you're the only one affected by all of this and _let me help."_

For a moment, you think you've gotten through to her- for a moment, your heart rises in hope. But that hope is dashed when she narrows her eyes further and crosses her arms obstinately against her chest.

"I think you should leave."

The words cut through you like a hot knife, and for a moment it's as if the wind has been knocked out of you- you're unable to breath, unable to move, unable to answer. When you finally manage to suck a breath in again, you decide that two can play this game of intransigence. You cross your arms, mimicking her pose, and shake your head. "No."

Her nostrils flare, and one eyebrow quirks up. "I wasn't asking."

"And I didn't come over here to have you toss me back out for trying to make this better." If not for the gravity of the situation, you might almost enjoy being able to draw her out of the stoicism she normally wears like a cloak. But this is too important for you to draw any gratification from it.

Her jaw tightens, her lips drawing themselves into a thin line. "I didn't ask you to come." Her arms drop to her sides as she stalks toward you, past you, heading for the door. "If you're so eager to pursue the relationship you had with _her,_ maybe you should just go back over there and do it."

Her words are meant to get a rise out of you, and they do- the last strings holding you together snap, and you turn toward her with a growl, grabbing her arm before she can reach for the doorknob and whirling her around to face you, pressing her against the wall.

"Dammit, Olivia, I thought she was _you!" _It takes every last bit of self control that you posses not to yell the words, and it comes out as almost a snarl instead. Your voice drops to a throaty whisper, and you emphasize every word of your next sentence, speaking slowly and clearly. "I came back. For _**you.**__"_

You stand there, your face inches from hers, breathing heavily at the proximity and realizing that words aren't going to help you anymore. So consequences be damned, you decide, and kiss her.

* * *

In the space of about five seconds, your emotions go from one end of the spectrum to the other.

You're too stunned, at first to do anything. And then the anger kicks in, the outrage that he has the audacity to even _try_ to kiss you after what he's done, and you stiffen, preparing to push him away. But then his hand comes up and brushes ever so gently across your cheek before slipping to the nape of your neck, and in that moment all you can think about is the way he looked at you when he almost kissed you in Jacksonville.

And suddenly you're kissing him back, your resolve melting as you lift your hands to his head and thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to you. Fire races through your veins as he snakes an arm about your waist and tugs you up against him, making a low sound of approval in the back of his throat that only fuels the flame inside of you.

He pulls back, ending the kiss, eliciting a soft whimper from you, though his face is still only inches away from yours. His pupils are dilated, to the point where you can barely see the blue of his irises, his nostrils flared as he gasps for breath. But there is a smile hiding at the corners of his eyes, and his fingers curl gently into your hair, as if he doesn't dare to believe that his gamble paid off. Your lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smile, and you pull his head back down to yours.

This kiss is different from the first- there is no bruising intensity, no desperation or anguish. This one is soft, gentle- a reminder of how he kissed you on the other side, a pouring out of emotion, a leap of faith. But it steals your breath away all the same, weakens your knees, and you are left clinging to him for balance, gasping for breath. His arm tightens around your waist as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, and you can't help but bury your face in his shoulder and do the same.

You try to remember why you were mad at him, know that you still should be, but all you can think of is how safe you feel wrapped up in his embrace, how _good_ it felt to have his lips against yours again, how right this feels. You are still not whole- far from it- but the pain has receded enough for you to realize that you were not the only victim in this. You were betrayed, he was used, but running in circles around each other is going to do neither of you any good. You're home now, in more ways than one, you realize with a start, and you've wasted enough time.

"I love you." The words come out muffled, since your face is still buried up against his shoulder, but you feel him go still, and his fingers curl farther into your hair before he pulls back and looks down at you.

"Say it again," he whispers, as if he doesn't really believe what he heard, and you can hear the catch in his breath as you comply. And then his mouth is on yours again and he's whispering it back in between kisses, over and over again, as if he's afraid that if he stops you'll disappear.

It's only with some effort that you manage to turn him so that _he's _the one against the wall, and as his back collides with it you can see the slight look of confusion in his eyes turn to something else altogether as you reach over his shoulder and re-bolt the door. You take a step back and extend a hand to him, eyebrow raised in a challenge, and as he slips his hand into yours and lets you lead him into the bedroom you can't help but smile.

* * *

That... that was unexpected. Absolutely amazing, but definitely not what you were expecting to happen when you came over here tonight. The two of you are lying on the bed in the guest room, her head pillowed on your shoulder, half asleep in the aftermath of your lovemaking. You'd been confused, initially, when she pulled you past her bedroom, until you'd glanced in and seen the bed stripped bare. You want to ask her about it, but you're afraid to, afraid to upset this delicate balance that the two of you have set.

She's incredible, this woman in your arms, you think as you look down at her. You had let her take control, and she set a frenetic pace, as if she was trying to claim you as hers again, as if she were afraid you were a figment of her imagination and apt to disappear. But you met her, inch for inch, because you needed that confirmation, too, needed to know that you weren't dreaming and that this was actually happening.

You catch some part of your brain starting to make the obvious comparisons, and clamp down on it firmly, refusing to go that route. There are none, not ones that matter, anyway. _This_ Olivia is the one that you've spent the last few years with, the one that you know as well as you know yourself, the one who can take your sarcastic humor and throw it right back at you.

The one you fell in love with.

You smile at that thought, turning your head to the side so you can kiss her forehead. She stirs at the small movement, and you feel a pang of regret for waking her, because you know she hasn't been sleeping well since she got back. But she yawns, and nuzzles her face back against your shoulder, and for a moment you think she's drifted off again until she speaks.

"Peter?" Her voice is husky, from both your lovemaking and sleep, and you can't help but love her even more in this unguarded state. "Why me?"

You don't have to think about that answer- she is everything to you, everything you could ever possibly want or need. She's grounded you, given you a place to belong. "Because you gave me a place to call home." You kiss her gently before pulling the blankets up around the two of you and settling back into the pillows. "Sleep, sweetheart. We'll talk in the morning."

And that night you decide that there is nothing you enjoy more than falling asleep with her in your arms.

* * *

When you wake in the morning, you are alone, and for a moment you panic, wondering if it was all just something your imagination concocted. But then your instincts kick in, and you start to notice details again, your heart rate slowing as you take in the guest bedroom, his shirt draped across the headboard, and the smell of something cooking wafting through the house. And you can't help but smile as you reach for his shirt and slip it on in lieu of your bathrobe and wander out to the kitchen to find him.

You pause in the doorway, watching him lean over the stove, admiring the muscles lines in his back for a moment before you gently clear your throat. "Good morning."

His head whips around towards you, a smile lighting up his face as his eyes land on you. "Hey." He nods towards the steaming mug of coffee sitting on the island. "Coffee's ready, eggs are almost done." He turns back towards the stove, stirring the mixture in the pan he's holding, and you sit down and wrap your hands around the warm mug, carefully taking a sip.

Black, one sugar. You smile, setting the mug back down as he reaches over your shoulder and sets a plate down in front of you, using it as an excuse to wrap his arms around you from behind and kiss you on the cheek. You whisper your thanks, turning your head long enough to catch his lips with yours for a brief kiss before turning back to the food he's set in front of you, realizing you're starving. Breakfast continues in silence, the only sounds from forks scratching the plates, until the food is gone and the coffee drained and suddenly you're sitting in awkward silence, unsure of what to say.

Because how do you explain going from obstinate anger to frantic lovemaking? You reach over and take his hand, opening your mouth to speak and then closing it again, because you honestly aren't sure how to phrase what you're feeling right now. So you settle for simple.

"I'm glad you came last night." You rub your thumb across the back of his hand, trying to force the feeling out of your head in words that make sense. "I know... I know that it doesn't fix everything, I know we're still going to have to work through this, but... I'm glad we're doing it together."

He squeezes your hand, reaching up with his free one to gently brush your cheek, as he leans over to rest his forehead against yours, smiling. "I just knew that I couldn't lose you like that," he whispers softly. "Not after everything we've been through. I couldn't give up."

"I'm glad you didn't," you whisper back, letting your eyes drift close as you enjoy his proximity. "I love you."

"I love you too."

And for now, that's all you need.


End file.
